


Rational Thinking Only

by blodwite



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Jonathan is an actual doctor not a weirdo who just hands out vials like candy, Mary Lives, No Civilian Kills | Not Even Once, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, The guard of Priwen counts as civilians, better pacing, spoilers ofc, where's the day shift?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-10-15 12:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17528318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blodwite/pseuds/blodwite
Summary: Jonathan froze, uncertain now that she was before him. He had just murdered a man, killed him with his teeth like some beast. He couldn't hurt Mary.-------Or the one in which Jonathan doesn't murder his sister, doesn't indiscriminately murder the Guard of Priwen, and actually visits his mother.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I love this game there are a few issues I'd like to address. First of which is the disconnect between a pacifist run and all those poor Priwen rookies you paint the floor with. The pacing in this game is absolute trash. Sometimes Jonathan's reactions seem a bit out of character (you'll figure out when, I suppose). Where is the day shift at Pembroke? Is it just the three doctors? And they all work at night? There's no other nameplates so the answer to all those is yes. No one questions that Jonathan doesn't actually do any work at the hospital either.
> 
> I'm going to try to fix all the plot convenience. Well, no guarantees but I'll do my best. Saving Mary was just for my own self-indulgence, not necessarily a fix.
> 
> Get ready for 2000 words of exposition!

A ragged gasp rattled his lungs as Jonathan lurched forward. The putrid air caught in his throat and he fell back choking. He twisted to the side, desperate to ease his breathing, only to recoil as his forearm pressed into something wet and yielding. Jonathan shoved himself away from the dessicated corpse his arm had squashed. The soft, wet press against his back did nothing to quell his horror.

No, no, no.

Around him was a sea of bodies. Glistening white bones peaked out from lumps of grey flesh. Maggots shifted the surface of skin and flies rose like smoke as he moved.

Jonathan flipped over, hands and knees clawing at the dirt and flesh below him. He scrambled over the bodies, fingers in mouths and knees breaking ribs, anything to get away. Instinct brought him toward the embankment; up is the only way out of the grave.

Wooden boards creaked beneath his weight as he emerged from the pit. His limbs shook uncontrollably and he pressed his face against the rough wood. Unable to move he rested for a moment as his gasps and cries of horror gradually quieted.

Jonathan stumbled to his feet as soon as he was able. The world dimmed around him and he swayed, the barral next to him the only thing keeping him standing.

A muffled voice accompanied by pounding footsteps persuaded him to lift his head to the person approaching him.

“We've got a live one!”

Not a person.

The pulsating light before him was the only color in his world. A delicious bright crimson against the grey landscape. It caught his attention like a scream on a silent night and Jonathan swayed into the figure’s arms.

The muffled voice rose in pitch but curiously not in volume. Hands caught his shoulders, shaking him. In response he pressed his weight into the smaller figure. His teeth found where the scent was the strongest as they hit the ground.

Hunched over his prey like a hissing cat Jonathan drank deeply. He was so thirsty.

Only when the fluttering red light faded did he jerk back with a gasp. Eyes wide and clear, the world back in color, Jonathan stared at the man below him.

“What have I done?” He breathed. Shaking fingers tore at his shirt, frantically pressing the strip of cloth to the man's marred throat.

The man was already dead.

“No.” Jonathan pressed his fingers to the man's throat to feel for a pulse that wasn't there.

Feeling numb he dropped the cloth and stumbled back from the body. Gaze shifted to take in the mass grave and Jonathan grasped his elbows.

“What is the nightmare?” He muttered.

Voices caught Jonathan's attention from the other side of the pit. Light and feminine, a voice that tugged his heart clear into his throat. It couldn’t be.

He surged to his feet and hurried across the wooden planks. The debris machinery, and bodies slowed his frantic pace but soon she was in his view.

Mary stood with her back to him, bent forward and peering down at the face of a corpse. Rows of bodies lay before her, discreetly shrouded in dirty white fabric.

A man was with her, pulling back the cloth from faces and urging her to stay back.

Jonathan froze, uncertain now that she was before him. He had just murdered a man, killed him with his teeth like some beast. He couldn't hurt Mary.

“Look, lady, you should leave.” The man said as he dropped the cloth and brushed his hands on his pants. “It ain't safe and you've done looked at every corpse here. Go home.” He raised an arm and waved it vaguely in what was the presumably the direction of the road.

“I can’t!” Mary’s exclamation seemed to surprise even herself. A hand lifted to her lips as she tried to suppress a sob. “I have gone everywhere. He has to be here!” She was crying now, gloved hands pressed over her eyes.

Unable to resist his sister's tears Jonathan strode forward. It was the undertaker who noticed him first, jaw agape and eyes white with fear. The man had taken a step back only to trod on the corpse behind him.

“Mary…” he called, hesitantly reaching a hand out toward her.

She tensed at his voice. Slowly her arms lowered and her eyes found him. For a moment all she did was stare at him, face slack with incomprehension. Then she flew into his arms, not caring about the blood and decay that covered him. She sobbed against his chest, continuously speaking. The words were smothered and too fast to be understood, though his name was used more than once. Jonathan raised his arms, hesitated, then finally wrapped Mary into his embrace. Gently he stroked her hair and swayed with her. His eyes shifted from Mary’s hair to the man when he moved.

“You- We threw you into the grave! Three nights ago!” The man pointed at him, arm quivering.

Mary tore herself away from him before he could retort.

“You threw him in there? Without even checking that he was alive!” Her pitch was high with emotion, hand flung out to gesture toward the scene of horror that was the pit filled with bodies.

He held his hands up, palms forward in surrender. “Not a doctor ma’am, thought he was dead enough. Seen enough corpses by now to tell the difference.”

Mary seemed to deflate and said softly. “I’m sure you have sir, these are dark times indeed.”

The man simply shrugged and said, “Well, I’ve to get back to work.”

Jonathan watched him as he began to walk away. The man was headed toward where the remains of what must have been his coworker were. Which he would undoubtedly find. Jonathan did not want to be here when that happened. They needed to leave and now.

He placed a hand on the small of her back and said. “Mary, we need to go home.”

She had turned toward him with a smile but at his words it dropped from her face. “Of course, brother. You must be tired. Oh, to think that you’ve been here for three days. In that grave. How dreadful!”

She took his arm, still not seeming to care about the grime that he himself was very much aware of, and led him away from this hellscape.

This all seemed so surreal. The warmth of her body against his, the sound thumping of her heartbeat that he definitely should not be hearing. Jonathan couldn't tear his gaze from her. He hadn't seen Mary in almost four years. His chest ached that she was draped in the black of mourning. Surely she was not wearing that for him?

It wasn’t until they were about a block away from the open area that was being utilized as a mass grave that Jonathan began to examine the world around him rather than the profile of Mary's visage.

Buildings stood tall and impossibly large around them. Vast emptiness stared out of the gaping open maws of the doors creaking in the wind. Sheet metal and steel beams looming dark against only slightly paler sky. 

The industrial warehouse district of Southwark stood dark and empty. The droning hum of a faulty street up above was the only noise aside from their own. Distantly Jonathan could hear the clanking and hiss of a foundry and the grating rhythm of a train even more distant that that. These things were far away he knew, far enough that he shouldn't even be able to hear them.

Much like the beating heart of the woman next to him.

Soon Mary began to speak, telling him about how frantic the past three days had been for her. Her voice intentionally low but still painfully loud as it echoed in the stillness of the night around them.

“I searched everywhere, Jonny. Your letter arrived and we were all overjoyed! Our Jon was coming home! When several days passed without you I knew something was wrong. Mother wasn't… well, she has not been in the best state of mind since you left for France, brother. It will be good for her to see you.” Mary paused to brush her hair out of her face, her bun coming loose in the drizzle of London rain that was beginning. Always, perpetually beginning.

“You were not at the Pembroke Hospital, nor any of the Red Cross dispensaries. That nearly broke my heart. Where else could you be if not in any of the hospitals? None of the vicars or priests had buried you. I searched all the cemeteries I could think of. It was probably more likely to find you here, in the mass graves of Southwark. I knew that. After searching the hospitals I knew that that was the most likely scenario. The most likely place to find your body. I just couldn't fathom you being thrown into a pit like piece of rubbish.” Mary spoke calmly, voice only breaking for the last half of her last sentence.

His brave, kind Mary stopped walking and turned to face him. Jonathan stepped a pace in front of her before noticing her pause and turning to face her. Though the rain covered her face he knew if was tears that were making her blue eyes so reflective in the pale flickering yellow street light.

“It's a bloody miracle that you're alive Jonathan.” Mary stared at him, barely blinking her intense gaze. “I know you're not religious, brother, despite mother's efforts, but I prayed for this.”

“Oh Mary.” Jonathan murmured as he wrapped an arm around his sister's shoulders. He coaxed her into walking again. Something told him deep in his gut that it was imperative to get home as soon as possible. He wasn’t yet ready to explain what had happened to him and it seemed that Mary wasn’t ready to ask either for the two stayed quiet as they carefully picked their way towards the Southwark bridge.

…

Avery and mother were at the door almost as soon as Mary had ushered him inside. The two had taken in his bedraggled form and surged forward with concerned cries.

“Mr. Jonathan! Are you injured?”

“Oh, Jonathan!” Mother embraced him with as much force as Mary had at their reunion. With a sigh he enfolded her in his arms. It had been a long three years and they were rather used to seeing him stained with blood, he supposed.

It took him another moment to realize the quivering woman in his arms was crying.

He let out a long breath. “Hush mother, it's alright. I'm alright. I'm here now.” Jonathan murmured and began to rub small circles into his mother's back. He gave his mother a slight squeeze, eyes meeting Mary's who had just finished locking the door.

Luckily Mary took mercy on him and stepped over to coax their mother away.

“Jonathan needs to rest, mother. He's had a long… week. What with the journey back from France. Let's prepare him something to eat.”

The women left the entryway but Avery took their place and Jonathan soon found himself bathed, freshly clothed, and seated at the dinner table with the wonderful women in his life to keep him company. 

Avery placed a bowl of broth and a glass of water before Jonathan and then wondered out of the room. Presumably to rid the washroom of his bloodied and ruined clothing. Or some other chore. Or even perhaps to eat his own meal. He wasn't even sure why he was extrapolating on the actions of his butler.

He looked down to the bowl in front of him. The murky yellow broth was unappealing. Its scent wafted upwards in gentle waves of steam that rolled Jonathan's stomach. It wasn't something that he wanted to put into his mouth in the slightest but he diligently raised the spoon under the watchful eyes of his family.

If what the undertaker said was true then he hadn't eaten in three days. A bit of broth would do him good especially with the lack of appetite.

“What happened to you, Jonny?” Mary asked of him quietly once he had eaten a few spoonfuls.

He looked up at the pair of them and placed the spoon solidly on the table before answering. “I was… attacked. On my way here from the train station. From behind. I could not see them. I assume they stole my valuables.”

Jonathan placed a hand on the left side of his neck. The wounds that he had swore were there had vanished as if he'd imagined the punctures. Perhaps he had.

“I thought that my assailant had severed the common carotid artery. There was so much blood. I…” Jonathan trailed off, failing to find words to describe the fear he had for his life. There was no way to live with all the blood he had lost, even with transfusions it was touch and go.

His mother was sobbing again, a gray handkerchief pressed against her eyes. Mary had a hand pressed to her mouth but there were no more tears in her eyes. 

Unable to watch their pain Jonathan turned his attention back to the broth.

Mary had begun to speak but he didn't pay attention to her words. Something was wrong.

He surged to his feet and fled the room. He fumbled his way into the loo, hands only just caressing the porcelain before he violently expelled his guts into the toilet.

Jonathan rocked back onto his heels and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, breath labored. Distastefully he noted that there was no trace of red anywhere. Perhaps he had hallucinated attacking that man? Sudden nausea was indicative of a concussion and the hallucinations were likely from dehydration. Except he had felt steady on his feet the whole way back from Southwark.

A hand on his back alerted him to Mary's presence. He realized that he had been ignoring her repeated expressions of concern.

“I'm fine, Mary. I just… I just need to rest.” Jonathan tried to reassure her with a weak smile. He climbed to his feet, flushed the toilet, and all but fled the room.

Mother was in the hall when he stepped out. He wrapped her into another hug immediately.

“It is alright. I only need to sleep, mother.” Jonathan reassured as he took his leave.

He made his way up to the second floor to his childhood room. The bed was already prepared, bless Avery, the man needed a raise, and he collapsed onto it in a dead sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jonathan burns himself, Mary is the epitome of calm, Mother worries too much, and a journey is begun.

Pain seared through the side of Jonathan's face and he sprang out of bed with a soft hiss before he even realized he was awake. A hand instinctively cupped the afflicted check as he looked about the room in something of a daze. As weary and lethargic as he felt, he was certain that there was nothing in the room that had harmed him. If it weren't for the pain that still lingered in his face he would have thought it a dream.

With a deep sigh he straightened out of the strange crouch he had settled into. He chuckled a little at the ridiculous scene he must be making. Flying out of bed and into a squatting stance, Jonathan shook his head. His sister would be laughing at him had she seen him.

Jonathan stretched his hands above his head more out of habit than any real need to actually stretch. Habit, again, drove him to reach out to straighten up his bed.

As soon as his hand crossed the threshold of the sunlight sneaking through the curtains he jerked back like there was a snake coiled in his pillows.

The afflicted hand was cradled against his chest as he hissed in pain, the noise more guttural than he recalled. His hand smoked, glowing through cracks in his flesh as if he burned from the inside out.

Jonathan stared with eyes wide, not quite believing what he was seeing. He was certainly feeling it.

Expression settled into something resembling suspicion, Jonathan reached out tentatively to the sun again…

Then the door suddenly opened.

“Wake up, lazy bones!” Called the cheerful voice of his sister entering the room only to physically freeze with a soft gasp.

Jonathan met her gaze and for a long moment neither of them moved.

She stood with mouth agape, midstride, one hand still on the door. He had frozen with his smoking hand almost touching the light, head turned toward the door.

Mary broke the eye contact first with a whirl of motion, shutting the door with near violence and surging forward. Jonathan recoiled but she merely flew past him, seizing fist fulls of the heavy curtains and pulling them completely closed.

Turning on her heel she faced him.

The worried look on her face unnerved him as much as the fact that he could actually hear the accelerated pounding of her heart. Jonathan swallowed reflexibly as a wave of want, a need, coursed through him. He blinked several times as he turned away from her, the palm of his uninjured hand pressing against the back of his eyes.

A long silence lingered between them, as if Mary was hesitating. He didn't like this. His Mary was a strong, opinionated woman who knew what she wanted. It wasn't like her to hesitate.

Something warm slipped into his hand. It wasn't until Jonathan peeked out from between his fingers that he realized it was her hand within his. Heavens, he must be freezing for her to feel this warm against him! No, that wasn't right either. The nerves in that hand were simply damaged from the burns.

The burns he had just mysteriously received.

Mary enfolded his hand within hers, movement catching his full attention. The sensation curiously did not cause further pain. A slow smile twitched at her lips. Not mirthful. No, the look about her brow, crickled just so, was concern. The rapid staccato of her pulse spoke of a fear so thick that he could imagine its scent in the air.

“Jonathon.” She spoke with solemn softness. Her voice was firm, though he could feel her hands shaking over his own. “What is this?”

The pair of them stared at the unblemished skin of the back of Jonathan's hand.

After what felt like minutes but what must of been seconds he found the will to answer.

“I don't know.”

A disgusted hiss escaped Mary's throat as she threw his hand away. She turned on a heel, walking the length of his room only to turn around and walk back toward him. Just as she reached him she spun away again only to return. The angry click of her heeled boots unnervingly loud against the hardwood as she paced the room.

“You don't know? How could you not know? I find my brother in a grave, alive and well. Only to see him smoke in the presence of sunlight the next day. A deep burn that vanishes before my very eyes! What am I supposed to think? Explain this to me Jonathan!”

Her volume rose as she spoke. Halfway through her rant she seemed to catch herself, the words pushed through her teeth in a low hiss as opposed to spit into the air. She whirled to him again, eyes bright, arms raised in a vague articulation.

He sighed deeply and dragged his hand over his face, the words of his response muffled by his palm. “I don't know…”

She needed an answer, she deserved an answer. Straightening he lowered his hand and met her gaze.

“I truly don't know. I did not lie to mother. On the eve of my arrival in London I was attacked. The memories are… hazy. A strange voice in the dark calling out strange poetry. I told them to show themselves only to be attacked from behind. Pain in my neck, you saw all the blood. I don't think they injured me elsewhere.”

Jonathan paused there, hand lingering against his neck. His skin seemed to sting there now that he was talking about it, remembering. It was all in his head. He shook himself and continued to speak.

“Everything went dark. I only remember waking up in the pit. Surrounded by corpses.” Jonathan's breath stuttered there, and he took in a deep breath to disguise his weakness. Trembling hands clenched at his sides. Steady hands, doctor, he chided himself.

He skipped passed the details of his crawl from the grave. Wishing dearly he could also skip what he was about to say Jonathan opened his mouth again.

“There was a man. Next to the graves. An undertaker, or some assistant. I don't know. I was not conscious, not really. All around was a sea of grey. Muted and empty, except for this man. He pulsed with red light. Warm, delicious…”

Mary's hands had raised to cover her mouth. Wide eyes watched him from above her pale fingers.

“I don't know what happened, Mary. Please believe me. I was not myself. There were no coherent thoughts until I was already holding a dying man in my arms.”

She stood quietly and he watched her carefully. Not daring to move, afraid that he would frighten her if he attempted to approach.

Finally she spoke, fingers clasped together against her stomach. “You killed this man?”

“Yes. With my teeth.” Jonathan grit said teeth together and turned from his sister's unwavering gaze. Soon she would flee from the room. Away from the murderer her brother had become.

Mary breathed in sharply at his words.

“Well.” she began. “If I did not know any better I would say you were a vampire.”

Jonathan jerked his head back toward her. “There's no such-”

“Really?” Mary snorted. “How can you say that even now? After all this has happened to you? I saw your smoking hand hand heal before me in seconds. You say you drank the blood of some poor man last. You're a vampire, Jonathan.” She crossed her arms before her, eyes narrowed as she glared at him in the way she always had when she was right.

Tension melted from his shoulders as Jonathan turned away. A hand carded through his disheveled hair as he took his turn in pacing around the room. Vampires did not exist. The mere notion was ridiculous. It wasn’t a concept his mind was going to easily accept. Yet he knew what had happened, both last night and today with the sunlight. There was still that want, need, within him.

Thirst.

Jonathan froze in his movements as he finally realized. He had desired to drink his sister’s blood. Pale eyes sought her out in the room. He hadn’t known his strange body’s new desires but he recalled being able to hear the very beating of her heart. If he paid attention he could still hear it now. Before he’d had no control over himself. What if it was always like that? Indiscriminately attacking people around him once he was thirsty.

Hands covered his face as he backed up until his back hit the bookcase behind him. He was dangerous. A land mine waiting to explode. If he hurt Mary or his mother he would never forgive himself. Was it even possible to control these urges?

Even lost in this dread he was still painfully aware of Mary’s movements. Her approaching footsteps as she moved to crouch beside him. There was no way he’d ever be surprised by someone with a pulse again, he thought inanely as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Jonny? What’s wrong?”

He sighed, lowering his hands to meet her eyes. “What are we going to do? How can I go on like this?”

Mary stiffened, bristling at his words. “You have to, Jonathan. Do not dare leave me as well.”

“No, I will not leave you and mother alone. I just… I can not hurt people. I am a doctor.”

Her grip tightened on his shoulder. “I am in no regards an expert in… vampirism, but I do not believe that you have changed so much that you’ll be murdering in the streets anytime soon.”

Jonathan snorted. “Idealist.”

Mary grinned. “Pragmatist.”

With a glance toward the door, she heaved a sigh. “I had best go and keep mother company before she wonders where I have gone. There is still plenty of daylight left, so get some sleep. And keep your curtains closed for heaven’s sake!” She shook an accusing finger at him.

“Do not worry, I will.” He raised his hands placatingly.

“Good.” Mary huffed and then turned toward the door. She paused with her hand on the knob and looked back at him.

“We can not tell mother about this.” She said, tone grave.

Jonathan grimaced. “No, we can not.”

“I’ll tell her you’re sleeping off last night's horrifying events, however you will have to find another excuse soon. Goodnight, Jonny.” She said before slipping through the door.

“Good morning, Mary.” Jonathan muttered after the latch had clicked.

…

The next time Jonathan opened his eyes he knew that night had fallen. Something within him sensed it. Not so much the presence of darkness as much as the absence of the danger of the sun. He just hadn’t realized earlier what he had been feeling. A vampire could feel the sun’s terrible peril through the very walls, it seemed.

Quickly he made the bed and dressed. As nimble fingers worked at the buttons on his shirt he listened to his family on the floor below. Mother and Mary seemed to be drinking tea in the sitting room, soft voices murmuring with his name frequent on their lips. Avery could be heard washing dishes in the kitchen.

Opening the door to his room was harder than it should have been. For a long moment he stood poised with his hand on the knob before he jerked the door open. The wood groaned ominously and Jonathan grimaced. He would have to watch his strength until he figured out just what he could do.

He listened to them talk about him as he made his way through the house. His mother was expressing concern about his health, Mary’s assurances were short and snippy, so he assumed she’d returned to this topic frequently throughout the day.

“Good evening, mother.” Jonathan greeted as he stepped into the room. Mary narrowed her eyes at their mother when she turned away to greet her son. He chuckled softly as he slid into a seat at the table.

“Jonathan! How are feeling? Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I’m feeling much better now.” He smiled at Emelyn, allowing her to clasp his hand into hers when she reached out.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. You gave us quite a fright last night.” She gave his hand a pat before releasing him, attention diverted as Avery set a new pot of tea upon the table. “Avery, bring Jonathan something to eat.”

“No need, mother. Mary brought me up something earlier.” He protested. From across the table Mary met his eyes. This, if anything, would cause problems in the future. Mother would eventually demand to know why Jonathan no longer ate meals at the table. They had best come up with a good list of excuses if either of them wished to avoid mother’s ire.

“Something light then? I cannot even begin to imagine what the army was feeding you and after the incident last night you need to eat something.” Their mother fused as she set about pouring his tea herself, evidently not taking no for an answer.

Jonathan acquiesced, taking the delicate handle of the teacup gingerly between his fingers. The aroma of the tea was as pleasant as he recalled, however just the liquid against his sealed lips as he pretended to sip it caused his stomach to flip in protest.

“Thank you, mother, but I must decline. I am going out.” The click of the cup against the saucer punctuated his statement.

“Out?” Mary’s outrage finally joined the conversation. “Where are going?”

Jonathan climbed to his feet and pushed the chair in as he spoke. “I am going to offer my services to Pembroke Hospital.”

“This late? There’s a curfew in White Chapel.” Emelyn said.

“I will be alright mother.” He reassured. “I meant to go as soon as I had gotten home. I should have gotten out of bed sooner.”

Mary stood as well. “I will see Jonny to the door mother.”

The two hastily made there way out of the room before their mother could protest further.

Once in the hall, when they were out of earshot Mary turned on Jonathan and stabbed his chest with her finger.

“What are you doing?” She hissed lowly to avoid mother from hearing them.

Jonathan watched his sister in bemusement and spoke slowly. “I am going to Pembroke. With the epidemic they are surely short overbooked and short staffed.”

Mary deflated at his words. “Oh. You’re actually going. I thought…”

“What?”

She turned away before answering. “That it was an excuse to go find… someone to eat.”

“Mary!”

She hushed Jonathan, shooting a furtive look toward the direction of their mother. Quickly she grabbed his arm and led his toward the entrance of the mansion.

“Don’t use that tone with me. My concern was valid. We do not know what we are dealing with here.” She paused to wet her lips. “I need you to share it with me, this thing that you are going through. Everyone… everyone else is gone, Jonathan. I need to be there for you. Don’t let this come between us. I won't let you shut me out."

Before he could think better of it Jonathan had wrapped his arms around Mary.

"I don't think you'd let me keep this from you even if I wanted to." He said as she returned his embrace.

The quiet laugh that shook her form relieved him. He didn't know what to do if she started crying.

Mary stepped back with a mirthful smile, though her eyes were still suspiciously bright. "You're right, of course. Like with the dead toad you found and tried to hide in your closet to dissect. Or the-"

"I understand the point. Nothing can be hidden from your omniscient eyes." Jonathan said quickly.

Laughing softly Mary leads the rest of the way to the entryway. She spins gracefully on her heel to the coat rack and hands Jonathan a clean coat, courtesy of Avery no doubt.

"Off with you.The quicker you leave, the quicker you return." She waves him towards the door with a shooing motion. "Be careful in White Chapel. It has been affected badly by the influenza."

"Of course, dear sister. I am the soul of caution." Jonathan reassured.

With a small wave, he stepped out into the cool air of the night and shut the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon is bad at emotions and talking to people. He's basically a self insert for me.
> 
> This is unrepentantly self-indulgent sibling bonding. I don't want to make chapters too long so this is going to go nowhere rather slowly.
> 
> Headcanons: Mary has a BA degree and she met her husband at the university.  
> She writes poetry and consumes novels like candy.  
> Mary is the romance to Jon's logic. Hence the all nightmare, no dream.  
> Her son's name was Aubrey.
> 
> (I really need to play the game again because I'm suffering with the dialogue)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jonathan gets to a hospital and is given a task. He also eats a rat, which is a little troubling.

The London air felt different.

Perhaps it was that he hadn’t previously had a habit of wondering about the streets at night. Or it was he, and not London, that had changed. His senses were alive; everything was too loud and too vibrant. The street lamps were harsh to his eyes, the conversations through the very walls of the buildings around here were too loud, and he could hear the very pitter of rat paws against the cobblestone at the end of an alley as he passed. It was very disorienting and Jonathan found himself becoming distracted by the simplest of things; the glint of water on the street, the rustle of a stray newspaper in the wind.

His condition possibly enabled him to detect something about the city that had previously been invisible to his senses.

Even as Jonathan mused he knew that the change was not just himself.

The city was dangerous now. The very air vibrated with aggression and the scent of death could be caught if the wind blew just right.

The West End hadn’t had this murkiness but then again Jonathan had nigh scurried from the district. He wasn’t quite ready to run into those who knew him from before the war, before the… vampirism.

Jonathan had hurried through the main square of White Chapel as well. Humans, it bothered him that he already thought of them as that, were too much to deal with right now. The smell of their flesh and the beating of their heart that thumped within his very skull was too much temptation. Mary had not bothered him this much and he worried that his change in nature had caused him to view those he didn’t have a personal interest in as simply food.

That wouldn’t do at all. He was a doctor, dammit.

A strange growl interrupted Jonathan's thoughts as he stepped through the gate that separated White Chapel's subdistricts. He froze, pale eyes darting across the street as he searched for the source. The clanging of the gate rang in his ears. Nerves already stressed from the sensory overload of his new abilities he failed to notice the creature until it slammed into his side.

Jonathan grunted as he grabbed the thing and threw it away from him. It wasn’t human.

His eyes widened at the distance he’d been able to fling it. As it sprawled halfway against the building on the opposite side of the street, Jonathan stalked forward. It was a full grown man and though he was obviously stronger than it now he didn’t intend for it to gain its feet again.

He was unarmed. A mistake that he wouldn’t repeat. However with the strength to throw men several meters away from his person he was sure he could humanely inflict enough damage with an unarmed attack to kill this thing.

Just as he reached the creature it stirred, lunging forward with a snarl.

Even medics are combat trained and Jonathan moved without thought. What he didn’t expect was for his hand to go through the creature. He’d instinctively targeted vital organs and he knew that he’d killed whatever it was even as it twitched on the ground.

Panting Jonathan stumbled back from the carnage. Eyes still wide in disbelief he stared at the blood that coated his hand, from fingertips to his wrist. The darkened coat sleeve dripped onto the stone below.

He shuddered as he watched the blood for a moment. It called to him but was muted compared to the vibrancy of the humans he had been avoiding this evening.

No, what bothered him the most was that his nails had morphed into deadly claws. Flexing his bloodied fingers, Jonathan examined his phalanges. The claws were thick, like what one would find on a bird, and at least an inch long passed his nail bed. Under the blood he was sure they would be black.

They were dangerous. Jonathan ran his tongue along his equally sharp fangs. He’d never be unarmed again even if he wished to be, it seemed.

Unable to help himself Jonathan raised his shaking hand to his mouth. His tongue flicked out, running up his index finger.

Jonathan stiffened as an electric current seemed to run through his nerves and tingle up his spine. Something in him snapped and he took the whole finger into his mouth, desperately lapping at the stale blood on his hand.

A flicker of red at the edge of his periphery distracted him and he lunged for it.

All too quickly the blood was drained from the small body and Jonathan woke from his daze.

Jonathan couldn’t fling the rat away from himself quickly enough. Staggering back a few steps, he brought his clean hand up to cover his mouth.

“This is despicable.”

After several more moments filled with panting and disbelief he reminded himself that he was still on a public, if currently deserted, street. Wiping at the dampness on his chin with his clean sleeve he forced himself to walk on.

There were no more altercations but every few side streets Jonathan could hear a muffled growl. A closed up building he had passed, keep out scrawled across the door in bright, messy letters, even had something on the inside banging on the door like it wanted out.

Were these… things victims of the plague?

If his preternatural senses didn’t register these creatures as being not human he could have believed a mutated strain to have caused such violent tendencies. Patients with high fevers can hallucinate, infections of the central nervous system can produce violent behaviours. It isn’t outside the realm of possibility.

Except they are not human. At least not anymore.

Jonathan stepped past the final quarantine partition of White Chapel and gazed across the canal at the Pembroke Hospital.

He probably looked frightening right now, all covered in blood. Turning back seemed distasteful after he’d already literally fought his way here.

A glance down at his hand once again shocked Jonathan. The blood was entirely gone. His fingers wrapped around the still damp fabric of his sleeve. Only the blood touching his skin had vanished. Had he absorbed it somehow?

Shaking his head Jonathan made his way across the bridge. Suck surprising were becoming commonplace.

The bustle of the hospital was obvious as he approached. Numerous tents pitched outside, boxes stacked in various places, and staff urgently going to and fro.

Jonathan stood for a moment outside the gates, ignoring the glare from the man who was checking the fuel levels of an ambulance across the street, before striding through. 

He stepped past, twisted really so that they wouldn't collide, a hurrying nurse with a metal tray of equipment clenched in her hands. It felt like it had been a long time since he had worked in a hospital but this felt more like a military triage than anything else. Perhaps there wouldn't be any learning pains as he eased back into civilian life.

Except for the cloying scent of blood that hung heavy in the air.

Mercifully a nurse was in the lobby. He hadn't wanted to flag down someone who was potentially keeping someone alive. She was busy talking to a patient, a very pale woman. He didn't expect it to take long as both seemed very informal. He would wait.

Jonathan thought he'd heard the nurse tell the woman to stop biting a Mr. Elwood. Oh dear.

The nurse soon walked over to him with a tired, fake smile plastered on her face. "How can I help you sir?"

Jonathan unconsciously straightened. "Hello madam. I am looking for work here and would like a word with your administrator on that very topic."

A genuine annoyed expression replaced the smile. "Oh. I'm sorry sir. Dr. Swansea is out for the evening. Nurse Crane would know more, he never tells me anything. If you'll stay here I'll go get her."

He opened his mouth to reply but the woman had already turned on her heel.

Glancing around he observed the patients on cots in the hallways. There plenty of room to walk through the halls but every available space had a cot and an ailing soul. The tents outside included the hospital had to be over double its capacity.

The scent of blood grew stronger. Jonathan turned his gaze to find the nurse and her co-worker stepping into the lobby. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared at the sight.

Blood glistened on the nurse's apron and hands. Fresh from assisting a surgery, no doubt. His throat felt full as he swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth.

"Hello, madam." Jonathan managed to say. It was harder to get his eyes to shift to the woman's face. There was blood on the fabric covering her hair as well.

Thankfully the nurse had little patience for his stupidity and jumped right into the matter.

"Hello, sir. I am nurse Dorothy Crane. Nurse Hawkins informed me that you wished to discuss a matter with Dr. Swansea. Unfortunately a rather urgent matter pulled him away from the hospital this evening. He'll return late tonight or tomorrow afternoon."

Jonathan managed to gather his wits enough to form an appropriate response. "Tell him to expect a visit from Dr. Jonathan Reid around this time tomorrow night." He paused for a moment, eyes flicking toward the Nurse Hawkins who had left to see to the patients once she had brought Nurse Crane to him. He had barely noticed her leaving.

"In the meantime is there anything I can do to assist?" Jonathan asked.

He was already here and willing to help with the multitude of sick and injured. Preferably more sick and less injured until he could figure out how to not drool at the very sight of blood.

The nurse hummed softly, a hand raised almost to her face before she seemed to remember the blood.

His eyes followed the motion.

"There is something." Her words forced his pale eyes back to her face.

"I can not let you work with patients until Dr. Swansea evaluates you. However, there is something I have been meaning to do but with all the influenza patients…" Nurse Crane gave a small shake of her head before continuing.

"Surplus medicine used to be stored in the old morgue before it was sealed off. We are in dire need of medication. You can search for whatever we can make use of, particularly antiseptics, if you would like."

"Of course." Jonathan answered immediately.

Her bloodied hand reached into a pocket and she produced a small key. He had to consciously prevent himself from grabbing her wrist when he took the key from her. 

The tired nurse awarded him with a half hearted smile. "Thank you, Dr. Reid. The morgue is behind the hospital. This is the key to the back door, which can be found through the garden. Find me when you are done, of course."

He tucks the key safely into his own pocket as he watches Nurse Crane leave to continue her job. The small smudge of blood left on his palm by the key is tempting but Jonathan forces himself to rub his hand against his trousers.

With a small sigh he turns to leave the hospital and find his way toward the garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than I like, but I'm not going to write the morgue adventure since we've already played it.
> 
> No Mary in this chapter but I'm fond of Nurse Crane and wished there was more interaction in game after the incident.
> 
> I have to constantly remind myself that there are no antibiotics in 1918. Penicillin doesn't exist.
> 
> Who shall we meet next?


End file.
